


Pretending

by justbecauseyoubelievesomething



Series: Writer's Month 2020 Prompts [31]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Co-leaders, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Floukru Oil Rig, Mutual Pining, Oceanverse, Roommates, Sexual Tension, Tickle Fights, canonverse, luna kom floukru - Freeform, one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26236486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbecauseyoubelievesomething/pseuds/justbecauseyoubelievesomething
Summary: In the safety of Luna's rig, Bellamy and Clarke finally have a chance to let their guard down. To find some rest.But things are oddly tense when you only have one bed.A Bellarke one-shot for Writer's Month 2020. Prompt 31: there was only one bed!
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Writer's Month 2020 Prompts [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863823
Comments: 7
Kudos: 118
Collections: Writer's Month 2020





	Pretending

Luna’s rig is full of unfamiliar noises. The metal walls creak and groan around them, and Bellamy can’t help but feel like the ancient structure might just come down on their heads and bury them in the ocean. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to keep pace with Clarke’s confident strides.

Of course, she’s not actually confident. He can feel the anxiety vibrating off of her in waves, washing through his senses and prickling along his scalp. He longs to reach out and grab her hand, to squeeze her fingers and reassure her that she’s not alone.

He settles for keeping himself glued to her side instead.

Luna waves them through long hallways made out of rusted panels and silent machinery. Some of it reminds Bellamy of the Ark and he feels a strange pang of nostalgia mixed with a claustrophobic urge to run and beat his fists on the wall until he punctures a hole to crawl through.

He pushes that urge away too and keeps his head high, chin firm. The others are straggling behind them curiously. Their ragged breaths keep him all too aware of his place at the front of the group. He can feel their fear too, more tangible than Clarke’s, creeping up the back of his neck and making it hard not to panic.

“Here they are.” Luna finally stops moving and turns to gesture to the narrowest hallway yet. Bellamy peers over her shoulder at the rows of doors lining the hall. The dim flickering light of lanterns hanging from the ceiling at imperfect intervals.

He swallows a lump in his throat.

Clarke turns to Luna with a smile plastered across her pale face. “Thank you, Luna. It’s perfect.”

The Grounder woman smiles and Bellamy thinks it’s genuine. “You are welcome, Clarke of the Sky People. I’ll give you all some time to settle in and rest.”

She inclines her head gently towards Bellamy and weaves her way back through the crowd of teenagers to go back to her own duties.

Clarke breathes deeply and this time Bellamy can’t stop himself. He reaches out and presses his hand to her arm, just above her elbow. He doesn’t say anything, but it turns out he doesn’t have to. She reaches up and clasps her fingers over his own. She takes one more long breath through her nose and out through her mouth and then she taps her fingers on his hand like a signal.

They turn to face the delinquents behind them. Their broken, little family, huddled under the swinging lanterns.

Clarke smiles again, face brighter than the lights overhead. “Real beds, guys!”

A low chuckle runs through the hall and Bellamy feels everyone relax fractionally. He feels empty without the rifle he usually carries on his shoulder so he crosses his arms instead, fingers weaving painfully into the buckles of his jacket.

“Let’s all get settled,” he calls out, making sure even those in the back of the group can hear. “Pair up and pick rooms!”

The rooms aren’t as small as he fears. Bunk beds make it easy for pairs of the delinquents to squeeze in and Clarke and Bellamy help usher the reluctant ones forward. They work their way down the long hall, pairing off kids and making sure everyone is accounted for. As they finally reach the last bedroom, Clarke exchanges a look with him that reflects his own bone-deep weariness.

“Roommates?” she offers jokingly as she turns to the last door.

He opens his mouth to trade teases with her, but he falls silent as she pushes the door and it swings open revealing a single bed.

They stare at the bed for a moment, crammed together in the tiny doorway. Bellamy’s chin is almost in her hair, Clarke’s shoulder blades brushing his ribs.

He blinks at the bed again and again, mind short-circuiting.

Suddenly Clarke laughs, loud and sharp. “Fuck it.”

She stomps into the room and throws herself on the bed with a loud sigh.

Bellamy bites his lip. The atmosphere between them shifts, suddenly thick with some sort of tension. He quietly shuts the door behind him, mind racing to assess the situation.

The single lantern swings softly above them, throwing their shadows against the wall in distorted shapes. Clarke huffs something to herself and Bellamy decides not to press.

He cautiously slips his shoes off and sits on the narrow bed next to her. She doesn’t try to move over to give him more space so he hesitantly presses his thigh against her leg. She grumbles a little again and he takes a quick breath.

“Clarke?”

“Hmm?”

“This is going to be okay.” He injects confidence in his voice.

She tilts her head just enough to peer at him through one eye. “Oh?”

“Yeah…” He looks around the tiny room, runs his foot over the uneven metal floor. “Do you want me to sleep on the floor?”

“Fuck,” she mutters.

“What?”

“No, I don’t want that,” she snaps. She glares at him with one eye again. “I’m not that… selfish.”

“Well then…” He nudges her knee. “Move over.”

She hums questioningly in her throat and he pushes at her knee again, this time running his hand softly on the underside of her leg. She screeches in surprise and jerks her legs over, giving him room to wiggle into a lying position next to her.

Surprise dances in her bright gaze. “Tickling? That’s not fair!”

He grins, settling his cheek into the lumpy pillow. “I didn’t hear you laying out any ground rules.”

“Well, if I would have known you’d stoop so low…”

He sticks out his tongue at her and it shocks him a little how easy it is to fall into this playfulness with her. He doesn’t know if it’s the aching tiredness catching up with him or the delirious feeling of being safe, finally safe. Whatever it is, he suddenly feels like laughing with Clarke Griffin.

He pokes her again, just under her ribs and she squirms, tamping down a laugh.

“Bellamy!”

He pokes her under her chin and she tries to curl in a ball, impossible in their small bed.

_ Their _ bed.

Why does the thought make his stomach swirl?

He tickles her again, fingers dancing up and down the sides of her stomach and she laughs desperately, swatting at his hands, but never able to properly catch her breath enough to get an advantage. Their shadows blend together and Clarke laughs against his cheek and Bellamy can’t stop smiling. Because finally, finally they don’t have to pretend.

He doesn’t know when he stopped play-fighting, or why his arms continue to rest over Clarke’s stomach. He doesn’t know why she’s trailing her fingers in swirls along his arm, or why his hand tightens possessively on her wrist.

He doesn’t know why she rolls over and melts back against his chest. He doesn’t know why he lets her. He doesn’t know why he buries his nose against her hair and inhales like it’s his last breath. He doesn’t know why she grabs his hand and presses it under her cheek or why he has to stop himself from fluttering kisses down her neck.

They’re not pretending anymore.

He sleeps better than he has since his feet first hit the ground.


End file.
